


You Smell Like Coffee, Always

by houseofphan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Phan - Freeform, Poetry, angsty kind of, idk anymore, they gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:47:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5206430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofphan/pseuds/houseofphan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's shitty poetry.Phil to Dan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Smell Like Coffee, Always

You looked at me sideways and said,  
"You know, you're really good to me."  
And I was pleased.  
Proved I'm doing something right.  
We're still on the upslope-  
I haven't fucked it all up yet.  
We know I will.  
Our pockets are so full of insecurities that is requires an additional ten minutes to undress.  
We've discovered that artificial dark can quickly mutate to artificial light, and that's too much.  
So it's best to touch outside.  
The sky can't fake us out like a cell phone screen or a temporary light bulb.  
You aren't some poet man, no sprawling image or firework fanatic that catches my tongue on fire.  
You're a person.  
You did not come from a family with fancy labels and expectations;  
I don't have to know how to handle you.  
I know that you have too many T-shirts  
and that stress builds up a massive wall between you and air.  
You choke on your fortress, but refuse to break through any class.  
But I don't know you yet, we'll get there.

We dance in my kitchen to bad rap.  
In yours, to punk and pop.  
You can't really slow dance so we sway in the morning to smooth jazz.   
Neither of us will admit to enjoying the cliché moments we force into existence.  
They're sufficiently imperfect because it's the two of us.  
And we don't make sense.

You pour my coffee for me and breathe into the soft spot between my shoulder and neck.   
It's not really a coffee break since I drink in your presence more than anything else.  
I always thought I would get stuck associating that thick filmy reek of coffee with a different pair of hands and a heavy mouth.   
I should have realised that some associations can be replaced when their origin is tossed from a window or left at the terminal.  
London became a new city without all that baggage.

Your bed has five pillows and is much larger than mine.   
You tell me to stay over whenever I want and I wonder if you mean it.  
I get scared you never mean it. 

Beautiful. Sweetheart. Darling. Baby. My love. 

I'll start catalouging the things you call me.   
You're the first who has ever used pet names and they make me smile.  
I'm gettingf off topic -

You tell me that I'm good to you.  
I nod and turn.  
As long as it isn't me.   
As long as I can focus on you, the world keeps spinning.  
Only then.  
Eternal host, eternal mother-figure.  
I will lend you gloves, a hat, give you a meal, somewhere to sleep that doesn't require a bus ticket.  
As long as it makes you more comfortable.  
Really just proving how selfish I am since you owe that comfort to me.  
I become necessary.  
I must be a necessity.  
I must be needed, must be wanted.  
That's the point, right? 

I'll fuck it up eventually anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to request!


End file.
